The Storm

The aurochs (ur ox) was the wild ancestor of domesticated cattle. It once roamed throughout the Old World, as evidenced by its widespread depiction in prehistoric cave paintings. It survived into the early modern era in the forests and marshes of eastern Europe.

*****

The calf lay at the edge of a small meadow, his hairy coat still matted and wet. He blinked curiously at the green new world into which he had just been born. His mother stood over him, gently caressing his face with her broad muzzle. She regarded me, patiently, but warily. The calf did not yet know patience or wariness and bleated a joyful welcome.

"Happy birthday, young fellow," I answered him back. "Welcome to the world. I will convey your kind salutation to the King. He will be pleased to hear of your arrival."

The calf listened with friendly interest. His mother looked on, but still held her tongue. I took my leave of them both. The hour was late, and the clouds were low and dark with rain. I still hoped to reach the lodge before they gave way. The newest denizen of the King's Preserve would spend a wet first night under the trees with his mother.

I had not been down this way since the snows. It was nice to see the forest and the glades waking up from their winter slumber. There were no signs of havoc or mischief. The paths were in decent repair. Another day, maybe two, would be enough to finish clearing the fallen brush.

Half a mile beyond the little meadow I spotted a boot print in a patch of mud. It was the first human sign I had seen all day. Poaching was not common in the Preserve, since the King had set aside ample territory for hunting elsewhere. But it was not unheard of.

It was not long after that I spotted the boot that had made the print. It was affixed to the foot of a motley colored youth who was seated by the side of the path leaning back against the trunk of a large sycamore tree. His bright red jacket and forest green cap gave him the appearance of an exotic jungle bird. His backpack lay beside him as if he had settled down for the night. He regarded me with the same wariness as the young calf's mother, the wariness of a solitary traveler encountered in the woods at dusk.

"Good evening, sir," I greeted him. "Are you aware whose woods these are?"

"Good evening to you, sir," he replied, coming at once to his feet. "I was not aware that these woods were owned by anyone save God Himself." He was quite young, his voice not yet broken. Under his cap was a sheaf of blond hair and a very fair complexion.

"These woods, sir, belong to the King, sir. They are part of his Royal Preserve. The King, sir, does not suffer trespassers lightly."

The lad was startled by this news. He held up his hands to show that they were empty. "I am a wayfarer, sir, nothing more. If I have lost my way I beg the King's pardon." His hands were soft and uncalloused, not the hands of a farmer or a laborer. Certainly not the hands of a poacher.

"And whither, sir, do you fare?"

"To Bohemia, sir," he answered, as if that country lay just around the next bend rather than a fortnight's journey off. "To seek my fortune."

"Well, sir, you will reach neither tonight. And when the rain begins"—I looked up at the threatening sky—"I daresay you will find this a poor spot to bivouac. Come. The King will extend you shelter for the night. And over supper the King's warden will consider whether to place you under arrest or to send you on your way."

The lodge was not far off, nestled in the lap of a small oak-covered hill. It was rude but sound, with a shuttered window and a stone chimney. I stopped to piddle at the edge of the clearing, but the lad apparently had no urgent need himself. I unbarred the door, and we went inside. There was a rough table facing the hearth, a rough bed against the wall, a good supply of firewood from my last visit. I sent the lad to fetch a pail of water from the creek, and by the time he returned I had a nice fire blazing. I took out a measure of dried peas from my knapsack and put them to soak just as the first drops of rain began to patter against the roof.

The lad was pleasant enough company, if a bit taciturn. As the peas simmered he listened respectfully to my accounts of forest management and to my tales of the King's hunts. He was particularly interested to hear about the beasts—about the boar, the most dangerous of forest animals, who will charge without provocation and slash without quarter—about the ur ox, the mightiest of beasts, who can sweep a man up in his prodigious horns and toss him to his death against a tree. I told him how the herds had been diminishing since my grandfather's day, to the point that they were now protected by the King's royal order. I told him about the newborn calf, and about how happy the King would be to hear the news.

The rain was falling harder now, pelting with some force against the shutter and the door. I spooned the steaming peas onto two tin plates and divided a crust of rye bread. As we ate I coaxed out a bit of the lad's story. His father, apparently, was a man of some standing in the town. His older brother stood to inherit the father's business, leaving him with little choice but to strike out on his own. He had no real trade, but he was clever and had studied mathematics and philosophy. Thus armed, he hoped to earn his living as a tutor among the Bohemian bourgeoisie.

The mere bringing up of those scholarly subjects had a lubricating effect on the lad's tongue. After supper he endeavored at some length to elucidate a new philosophy about the movement of the heavenly spheres. He became quite animated, in fact, dancing across the room like a top to illustrate one particular aspect of his theory. I was not able to follow much more than the gist of his argument, but I was struck by the passion of his exposition. It made me worry a little less about the viability of his plan.

Finally it came time to retire. The fire had burned low, the room was becoming chill. The rain gave no sign of stopping. I fluffed the mattress and shook the comforter. I took off my boots and undressed down to my linen shirt and britches.

The lad was somewhat reticent to undress, but at last he took off his own boots, and then his colorful jacket, and then his woolen hose. He untied the cinch of his trousers and slid them down, revealing that his loose linen shirt was really a chemise that reached below his knees. I held up the edge of the comforter for him. Avoiding my eye, he took off his last remaining piece of outer clothing—his jaunty cap.

And in so doing he revealed the reason for his reticence—and for his unbroken voice, his uncalloused hands, his girlish complexion, his shyness to piddle. My companion was not a lad at all, but a comely young woman, his—her—long golden hair neatly braided and prettily coiled atop her head. She placed the cap on the table and shyly turned her eyes back to meet mine.

I felt somewhat betrayed. I'd thought that the cordiality of the evening had bespoken a certain frankness between the two of us. I was still holding the edge of the comforter, but my companion hesitated, unable to interpret my reaction. I gestured with my head. Hospitality offered is hospitality pledged.

She got into bed and I got in beside her. She turned to face me, her wariness redonned, her arms crossed in front of her. I couldn't really fault her for wearing a disguise, a girl traveling alone in the forest. And I had to admit that even if she had kept her secret from me at first, she was revealing it to me frankly now. But still I felt somewhat betrayed.

Her eyes were searching my face for some sign of my reaction. Eyes that I should have recognized as feminine long before she took off her cap. Eyes that should have been recognized as feminine by any woodsman worthy of the name. Eyes that undoubtedly would be recognized as feminine by other strangers at other way-stops along the road.

A girl traveling alone in the forest. I had to remind myself that every little calf leaves her mother one day and sets off to seek a life of her own. It was not my job to care for them all, even if I couldn't help but care about them.

"Do you intend to wear your cap even while you lecture?"

Her face lost some of its tension hearing no tone of reproach in my voice. "In Bohemia, a woman may tutor in her own right," she answered. "Or so I have been told."

"But wouldn't it make more sense to seek your fortune closer to home? In the form of a husband and a cottage and a yard full of children? Surely your father would not begrudge you your dowry?"

She sighed. "My father has gone so far as to even select the bridegroom. A wizened old burgher from a far-off county who walks with a cane and cannot gum his crust unsoaked. I would as soon marry a haystack as spend my life attending to the whining of such a creaky dullard."

I was taken aback by the vehemence of her fusillade. "You're not one to mince words, are you? But your father must surely see some advantage to the union. This burgher of yours, is he rich? There are worse positions in life than being the wife of a wealthy burgher, haystack though he may be."

"Phhh. The position is open, if you should wish to apply."

"Then what about your brother? Is there no place for you in his household?"

She averted her eyes. "It's my sister, actually. The husband my father chose for her is not only rich but young and strong and handsome. If I'm to be an old maid, I'd rather darken some Bohemian garret than becloud my sister's happiness."

It was a heartfelt protestation, but I couldn't help but smile at the self righteousness of the pout with which it was delivered.

Her eyes flashed. "And why, pray tell, should the King's warden take such an interest in the misfortunes of an old maid?"

"The King's warden takes an interest in all the poor, unfortunate creatures he comes across in the forest."

Her eyes hardened into an indignant glare. "And does he always take such great pleasure in making fun of them?"

My heart went out to her, headstrong girl with the brash confidence of youth, not yet aware that the adventures recounted in fairy tales seldom come true in real life.

"I didn't mean to make fun. It's just that the girl I see before me is young and pretty and very much in command of her situation—not at all like any old maid I've ever known. I have no doubt that your fortune, when it comes, will be bright indeed."

The intensity of her glare diminished, but only slightly.

"But, if I may say, the road you've chosen is a long one, and one that's probably a lot more dangerous than you realize. Even before you took off your cap I was concerned about your safety. In all honesty, your wisest course would be to turn around. Find a way to make peace with your father. Seek your fortune closer to home. Have faith that it will come to you in time."

She didn't answer right away, and in the dying light it was hard to tell if my words had had any effect. Eventually, though, in a small voice, she said, "My father is a man who is used to being obeyed."

The rain drummed on. The ashy embers finally closed their eyes. The night was cold, but the bed was warmer for there being two of us in it.

—

The dawn broke dull and drear. The girl was still set upon her journey. I told her I would accompany her as far as the river that marked the boundary of the King's Preserve.

In retrospect it was foolhardy for us to have even set out. The rain had dissolved the trail into a muddy mire that sucked greedily at our boots and slowed our progress to a taxing slog. The rain ran down our faces. It streamed down our clothes. It drenched us to the bone.

It was impossible to tell at what drab hour we finally reached the ford. The rain had swollen the river well outside its normal banks. The angry current was sweeping branches, whole limbs, entire trees, and every other manner of storm-torn debris downstream at a breakneck pace. The stepping stones were completely undetectable beneath the frothing torrent. There was no hope of getting across. There was no choice but to turn around and trudge our way back through the endless mud and the relentless rain.

The afternoon was dark and the rain still falling when we finally made landfall again back at the lodge. We pried off our muddy boots and sloughed off our sodden jackets. Our underclothes were wet through. I set about starting a fire.

The girl began to shiver. "Strip," I told her. There was a horse blanket on the shelf. "Dry off as best you can and get into bed." Her soaking chemise stuck to her skin as she pulled it over her head. She wiped herself with the blanket and then scurried under the comforter, trembling and naked as a newborn mouse.

I put some peas to soak. Once the fire was crackling I stripped myself, adding my steaming shirt and britches to the sodden pile on the floor. I did my best to towel off, and then got into bed beside the girl.

She was huddled up in a shivering ball. I wrapped my arms around her, hugging my chest against her cold back and my thighs against her cold haunches, attempting to share with her whatever extra little warmth we could muster. Her shivering gradually diminished.

I gently prised open the grasp she had on her knees. I gently straightened out her legs. I gently rolled her over to face me, as if we were two logs in the fireplace. I put one of my legs as kindling between the two of hers. I held her close against me and rubbed her buttocks and her back. Outside the rain beat on, but there beneath the comforter we managed to kindle a little pocket of warmth.

When some of the color had returned to her face, I disengaged myself from our embrace and eased myself out from the bed. I tended the fire and put the peas on to cook. I wrung out our clothes and arranged them around the hearth.

The girl watched from the bed. My cock had gotten somewhat limbered up under the comforter, and it waggled as I went about my chores. She regarded it with some curiosity. It made me wonder what her wealthy household must have been like if she was so unaccustomed to seeing a housemate naked. It must have been very different from the crowded peasant households in which I had grown up.

Eventually, the fire settled itself cozily in, making the room brighter and more hospitable. It was as if the day had decided to give us a second chance. I cleared the chairs and set the table.

"Come and eat," I called.

"I haven't anything on."

"Come," I assured her. "It's warm enough here by the fire."

She got shyly out of bed, keeping her arms close to her body, She was apparently not used to being naked herself in front of others either. I was able to see her more clearly now. She was lithe and gracefully proportioned, with a woman's breasts and hips. She was not completely nude after all, but had a thin copse of light hair between her legs. She sat shyly down as I divided the porridge. Outside the rain drummed on.

"Is it the end of the world do you think?" she asked, her timorous voice sounding as if she were only half joking.

I laughed. "After supper we'll send out the dove to take a look." I put a soggy portion of bread on her plate.

.

"What do the beasts do when it rains like this?"

"Postpone their travels. Stay at home in their cozy dens."

"Like we should have done, you mean."

"You might have thought that a woodsman would have known better," I admitted.

"Do you think it's a sign? Telling me that I really should seek my fortune closer to home?"

I couldn't help but smile. "Is this what it takes, then, to get your attention? The laying waste to half a province? I'll try to remember that the next time I have any advice for you."

She blushed and turned her attention to her peas. Her breasts were smaller, but firmer and prettier, than the pendulous dugs of my mother and my aunties. Her nipples were like fresh spring buds compared to their work-worn teats.

Before long she looked up again. "What about your little ur calf? Does he have a cozy den?"

I lifted my eyes back to her face. "Rain is just a part of life for him. He comes from sturdy stock. He's at his mother's side now, under the trees, looking out in wonder at his wet new world."

She broke off a scrap of bread. "My stock is not so sturdy, I'm afraid. I much prefer a cozy den, especially after such a day as we have had. It's quite cozy here, isn't it, now that we're warm and dry?" She blushed and looked away. But then she looked shyly back again. "Do you . . . ever bring your wife here to the forest with you?"

"I would, probably, if I had one. Folks say that four and twenty years is getting time I should."

She held my eye for just a second, then looked away again. We'd finished our meal. She stood up and took a self-conscious step toward the fire, giving me a chance to see her shapely buttocks. Then she turned and warmed her back side, giving me a chance to see her little frosting of hair.

"Does the King ever come here?" she asked. "Does he take any interest in his Preserve?"

"Indeed. During the hunt of course, but at other times as well. He loves to ride off into the forest to consult with his deer and his hawks and his oxen. His privy council, he calls them. He comes to consult them, I think, when the responsibilities of the kingdom are weighing too heavily on his mind. Many's the meal I've shared with him here at this very table."

She reflected thoughtfully as she sat back down. "What kind of man would you say he is?" she asked, as if we were still discussing the beasts of the forest.

"The King?" It was a question I'd never really had occasion to ask myself before. "Well, he is the only king I've ever known, and as such I'd have to say that he embodies my understanding of the office. He's noble, honest, hardworking, regal. I'm proud to serve him."

She stared into the fire, reflecting on what I had said. "And would you say he's a man who is used to being obeyed?"

It was another question I'd never had occasion to ask myself before. "He expects to be, I would say. The only orders I've ever heard him give are orders that he would obey himself."

The rain continued to fall. I cleared the table and rearranged the wet clothes. My companion kept staring pensively into the fire, but her gaze eventually drifted again to my jangling cock. I adjusted my posture slightly to give her a better view.

She blushed and looked up at me. "It's just that the only other penis I've ever seen is my little nephew's. Yours is . . . more consequential."

The appendage in question, already well aware of her presence, was flattered by her attention and stood a little more stiffly to attention itself. It began to bob slightly up and down.

She was intrigued. "Can you move it about? Like an elephant's trunk?"

I laughed. "A man can no more control his cock than an elephant can control a monkey sitting on its back."

She gave me a quizzical look.

"It has a will of its own. It has its own animal spirit and pays little heed to its master's bidding. It has its job to do, and it goes about it."

She was trying to understand. "Pissing?"

"Well, I guess it does heed its master's bidding when it comes to that. It's its other job that I'm referring to."

Her blank look led me to believe that she did not know exactly what that other job was.

"The begetting of children," I said. "You know that it's involved in the begetting of children?"

"Um, . . ." she began. It was hard to believe that a girl of her age would not know the basic facts of procreation. It was certainly a subject that a girl of her age, setting off by herself through the forest, should know something about.

"Do you know what your cunt is for?"

She opened her legs slightly and looked down at her little patch of hair. "It's where the baby comes."